


Under the Trees of Ithilien

by Terrantalen



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst and Feels, Frottage, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-24 07:18:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18566578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terrantalen/pseuds/Terrantalen
Summary: Sam remembers an afternoon in Ithilien.Shortfic inspired by the soppy looks Frodo and Sam share in the films.





	Under the Trees of Ithilien

How did it come to this?

There had been wine, of course, there had been wine, but surely not enough wine, not really, to justify the lapse in judgement that had led him to say what he’d said to his wife, about how, once, he and Mr. Frodo… Frodo… had tossed one another off. 

It was only the one time, of course, and it had been during one of the brief reprieves of misery, when they’d been traveling in Ithilien, otherwise, Sam supposed, it would not have happened.

Rosie, of course, had taken the news a little poorly.

She’d always been a bit jealous of Frodo’s place, even though Sam had said that they were nothing at all alike to him in his heart. Rosie was his Rosie, pretty and lovely, the mother of his children, the only lass he’d want to spend his life with. 

Frodo was his master. And the noblest hobbit Sam had ever known. If his master had needs that Sam could fulfill, Sam fulfilled them, particularly when he’d borne the ring. It was as simple as that.

If Frodo had felt that turnabout was fair play, well… that was his master’s prerogative and Sam had been grateful.

Now, she was asking him all manner of questions about what he’d thought when it had happened, if he’d liked it, if he’d ever wanted it to happen again, if he’d ever liked another lad enough to want to be touched by him; all sorts of things that made Sam blush and stammer.

Because, truthfully, he had liked it, and he had wanted it to happen again, and he had liked other lads enough to want to touch them as he had Frodo, but he couldn’t tell her that. He could only pretend that he hadn’t enjoyed it. He even told her that he’d thought of her while Frodo was touching him.

He didn’t say that he’d gotten lost in the sky blue of Frodo’s eyes, which that day had been so clear, so warm, so happy, that Sam had felt his heart nearly bursting as Frodo knelt on the ground in front of him.

It was strange, but Sam couldn’t remember what they’d eaten. He supposed it might have been the day of the conies, because he remembered that he hadn’t been hungry. He’d almost always been hungry at that point, but he’d felt pleasantly sated by whatever they’d eaten. 

The sun had been out and Gollum had gone off somewhere, leaving them alone in the woods. 

Frodo had knelt in front of Sam. He’d bent down, “Look Sam,” he’d said.

Flowers, white flowers against the green grass.

Frodo had looked up at him.

“They’re beautiful,” Sam remembered saying.

He remembered Frodo’s answering smile, and for some reason, he'd slipped. “You’re beautiful,” Sam had said.

Then there had been dissembling on his part, more than one apology, before he realized that Frodo wasn’t angry, he was amused, and that he was still kneeling at Sam’s feet. Sam had knelt too, and Frodo had reached out a hand toward him, slipped it under his coat.

His Mister Frodo, touching him.

“Come here, Sam,” Frodo had bidden him.

And Sam had gone. Oh, how happily he’d gone.

It had only been the once. Sam told Rosie that he had never wanted it again, told her, even, that he did not want it that time. He lied to her and lied to her until she calmed down and began to believe him.

But Sam knew better.

He remembered how it had felt to have Frodo’s tender fingers tuck under the waistband of his trousers. They’d still been smooth and soft in spite of the months of travel and wear, as Frodo’s hand found its way onto the round of Sam’s belly.

“Sam,” Frodo had whispered, the uncertainty clear in his voice.

Sam had convinced him with his lips and hands that he wanted what Frodo was offering. He remembered the way Frodo’s arms had wrapped around his shoulders, the way he’d tasted of something herbal, of the thyme that Sam had found among the rocks, that he’d seasoned their dinner with. He remembered how it was to kiss his master and hold him.

It was like when Frodo had pulled Sam into the boat, out of the cold waters of the River Anduin and saved him. It had felt like Frodo was saving him just as much when he pulled Sam down atop him.

Sam had not so much as whispered the words he’d wanted to say, the words of love, of devotion that he felt, for his master who was sacrificing so much for all of them. Sam remembered seeing the ring on its chain through the gap in Frodo’s shirt, remembered how it slid off the side of his shoulder and rested in the grass.

Sam had reached up and tucked it away where he did not have to look at it glinting evilly, where it would not remind him of the peril and danger that Frodo was in, so that Sam could forget that they were not laying on soft grass in the Shire, so that Sam could pretend that this was something that would be more than once, something that was not fleeting.

Something that was only happening because Frodo was desperate.

He was glad, at least, that he hadn’t told Rosie how they’d kissed. He’d made it sound clinical, clean. Not at all like Sam had offered up his heart along with his body and prayed that Frodo would accept it.

No, Sam hadn’t thought of Rosie at all when he’d taken Frodo’s length in his hand and rolled his thumb over the slit, had thought of nothing but Frodo when his master’s eyes looked up at him with that almost pained expression of lust. Sam had wanted there to be love there, was almost sure that there was love in Frodo’s eyes, but it was only that once.

And Frodo had left him.

Still, Sam could have sworn, under the shifting shadows of the trees of Ithilien, that Frodo had looked up at him with love, before Sam closed his hand around Frodo’s manhood.

He could still hear it, the catch in Frodo’s breathing, the tangle of sound in his throat as he’d said, “Sam,” in the most delicious, heady way.

He remembered how it felt to have Frodo’s hand on him, how he’d nearly fallen apart at the first glance of Frodo’s fingers. It had been good, so, so good, to have Frodo’s touch, better when Frodo’s other hand had grabbed at the flesh of Sam’s side and pulled him into motion so that Sam was rutting into Frodo’s hand.

His Frodo, for all the world, his Frodo, in that moment, was more beautiful than anything Sam had ever seen.

Sam remembered how Frodo had lost himself against his belly, how he’d released his hold on Sam and pulled him up so that Sam was rutting into the slickness of his spunk between their bellies.

Sam had leaned over him, had kissed him as his hips lost their rhythm and then Sam was over his edge, washes of pleasure pouring over him like water from a high waterfall. 

He was glad that he’d not told Rosie that he had never felt anything better than that, glad that he’d not told her how they’d held one another for what seemed like an eternity while the sun walked slowly through the sky. How they’d kissed, even after. How Frodo had fallen asleep, his lashes dancing slowly against his cheeks while he dreamed.

He was glad he’d not told her that he had all but forgotten her until after the ring was destroyed and it was clear that Frodo wasn’t going to seek him again.

Then Sam had remembered his real life, his unspoken promise to a girl back home, and he’d realized that Frodo wanted him to move on, that whatever they’d had had been meant just for that once and never again.

He was glad he hadn’t told her that it had nearly broken his heart, that it had hurt worse than anything when Frodo sailed away, and Sam had to watch him go. To realize that Sam wasn’t enough for Frodo, that he could not heal him from what the ring had done to him.

Instead, Sam had lied. 

“It was only the once, and of course I never wanted any such thing ever again. Strange things happen when you’re out of hope, if you follow me. It wasn’t like I had feelings for him, mind. It was only duty, helping him get on, you see.”

Yes, in the end Rosie believed him.

But the trees of Ithilien knew otherwise, and deep in his heart, Sam did too.


End file.
